


bought me a holy war

by fated_addiction



Category: Bleach
Genre: Canon - Manga, F/M, Romance, Romance man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-10
Updated: 2012-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-07 11:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/430626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fated_addiction/pseuds/fated_addiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time starts again with smaller moments; it's really what they do. Rukia and the art of confessions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bought me a holy war

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for current manga arc. I'm always a fan of 'well, they totally talked and we didn't get to see it' moments. For tosca1390, because she humors me a lot.

There is always a reason.

 

 

"Nii-sama has a death wish," she says absently.

The edge of his bed cushions back against her palms. She stares at the ceiling; at his desk, Ichigo shifts and his chair squeaks. There is a book open, but the pages lie flat.

"Well -" he snorts and rolls his eyes. His fingers touch the bridge of his nose. "He's a special snowflake - I mean, shit. It's not a surprise."

She's quiet. Something is coming, she wants to say. She's tired of saying it, really. There is a weight that comes with the lieutenant badge, strapped to her arm. But they are still months apart, she and Ichigo, and it's the loneliest she's ever felt around him.

She meets his gaze this way. His mouth is heavy with a frown. He leans over on his knees, staring at her. His eyes flicker to gold. She runs her fingers over the hem of her dress - Yuzu's, soft with a pretty blue.

"You saw him," she murmurs.

Ichigo studies her.

"Why are we talking about this now?" he asks, and the dryness in his voice is gone. His elbows stay strained on his knees. 

The tips of her fingers are cool against her knees. She's forgotten the flush of summer in the living world - just the peak, how it cues and curls, how she's never quite comfortable.

"Renji doesn't say anything," she says. "Renji's an idiot - but even he notices the change in how he fights."

Ichigo sighs. "He's impulsive."

"He's _irrational_ ," Ruki bites.

"You don't really want to talk about this."

Her hands fist in her dress.

Her voice is quiet. "I do."

The chair slides back. It hits the desk when Ichigo stands, the wheels clambering against the floor. He hasn't asked any of the questions she expects. There's been no time. Then again, there's never been any time;  she's been thinking about too much of this. She blames the fact that things have slowed down. But something always happens when things slow down.

"You're impulsive," she murmurs, and he chuckles, stopping in front of her. She looks up to glare and his hands slide into his pockets. They have an hour before the others and she has another before she's to report back. Time management, she thinks wearily.

"What are you thinking?"

Ichigo's face softens. She watches the lines around his mouth sink away from his skin. She waits for relief.

It's simple though.

_i don't want to go back_

 

-

 

The alarms are dull. Her ears feel numb.

Seireitei is coy with panic; she passes faces of Shingami, all slow to grapple with the realization that they are under attack. There is no time to worry about the others. Kira's absence is now buried under the dim reiatsu of Renji. She reaches out for Byakuya, temporarily reassured, and her gaze meets the Sōkyoku head on, watching as the sky sinks into the shadow of its form.

Shirayuki flushes against her palm.

 

 

Her mouth is a line.

"Inuzuri has never felt like a bad habit to me."

He blinks. Ichigo shifts and then sits. The bed sinks and his knee slides to press against her thigh.

"I don't know why I'm getting nostalgic," she says, shaking her head. "But - people," she says too. "You learn to survive by reading _people_."

He searches her gaze. She tries to duck, but his fingers touch her jaw. Downstairs, Isshin's laugh breaks against the floor. Ichigo doesn't move his hand.

"Something's always coming," he says carefully. "This isn't about your stupid brother," he says.

She watches the gold in his eyes flicker again. His fingers curl against her jaw too. He knocks her chin lightly. Her lips catch his fingers.

"I know."

The bed cracks.

"You're unsettled." It's not _you're worried_. He licks his lips. But they go back there, suddenly. "And Byakuya -"

She looks away. Her hands fist in her dress again. She breathes. The fabric is tight against her palms.

"Helping me," she confesses. The words press against her throat. She thinks of the park, her abrupt reunion with Ichigo - "This time," she finishes. "It feels like -" shaking her head, "He's far away again."

Rukia cannot bring herself to say the words. Ichigo's hands find their way to hers; they pull them from her dress.

"Moron," he mutters, and she rolls her eyes.

He says nothing else.

 

 

_we will prevail_

Shirayuki is gentle.

 

 

"You just got back."

His voice thickens. She watches as he brings his mouth to her palm.

"I don't know - you'd think time would be just the same," he says.

"Isn't it?" she's dry, and Ichigo glares. She smirks then, but it's half-hearted.

"I think you worry too much."

She shakes her head. Rukia's hair spills into her face. She shifts too and he drops her hands, leaning back against the bed and the wall. She sort of follows; her feet leave the floor and she tucks her knees against the blankets.

"I think you're impossible," she mutters.

He smirks. "That hasn't changed."

"Idiot." Her eyes roll. Then she bites at her lip. "You'd think _this_ would be easier," she says.

"What?"

"Talking to each other," she blurts.

The corners of his mouth turn.

"You don't even know what you're trying to say, idiot," he says gently.

His knee knocks into hers. She frowns, but her mouth twitches too.

Ichigo shakes his head. "You still worry too much." 

"Someone has to."

"Yeah," he says. "You would say that."

She sighs and drops back against the bed. Her hair fans out. Her dress rises over her knees. It's still a weird feeling, the small things; she swore herself off a lot of them, going back and forth dresses and ice cream and just silly, stupid things. Like his bed.

They're quiet. Isshin's voice is loud again. There's Karin too; Yuzu's footsteps pause on the stairs - she remembers, it's the third or fourth step that is unstable.

"I'm not going to tell you to stop it."

He stretches out next to her. He lies on his belly, half-curved to his side. She meets his gaze this way.

"But you're going to tell me _something_ ," she goads and his eyes narrow. She pushes at his arm and he shifts forward, almost over her. "Oh please," she pushes again. "You're not that scary, Ichigo."

"Ugh, whatever," he drawls, and his fingers are rolling into her sides - it's immediate, her reaction. She doesn't shriek, she chokes with a shy laugh and squirms as he presses into her side.

His hands remember. She's ticklish. The corner of her hip. His nails rake over her belly; it's slight and the fabric pulls lazily over her skin. It feels like a brush. She wiggles and then his mouth drops, hot against her throat.

" _Ichigo_ ," she breathes.

His mouth bites at her skin. It's wet; his tongue flicks lightly over the marks.

"You have to stop," he says.

He's even.

The knots in her belly ravel close.

 

 

There is never a moment -

she can hear the cries of the others, far off, and Seireitei is almost always a maze of terrible choices, high walls, and old, dangerous traps; she reaches out for Renji's reiatsu again, her brother's, and then Nanao's too Hitsugaya's flares, and in the distance, her captain's and the old man's sharpen, as nothing is all right -

"Shirayuki," she murmurs.

Rukia stills over a wall. Her fingers catch against her hilt. There is another reiatsu - fair and dramatic, coy over her own.

She thinks _today i will die_ and Shirayuki laughs softly.

_you are older than us all_

 

 

Ichigo kisses her in the morning.

They stand alone in front of their friends. The breeze is sharp. She likes that the sun is unkind in the living world. The heat mocks Shirayuki into spirit and it's almost as Ichigo's hands are searching for a way to cool. His shirt scrapes under her palms though; he tastes like coffee and his lip is split and for this moment, this moment alone, she slips and thinks _home_.

"You'll be back," he murmurs into her mouth.

"Don't be stupid," she says back. His fingers thread against the nape of her neck. "Nothing is ever that simple."

He laughs and she swallows it, low and soft. He bites at her lip too and she sighs. His knees press against her thighs and she cues her fingers just at his hip. They both hear Orihime giggle.

"I'll talk to him," he says then, and she knows he's thinking about her brother, too little too late or maybe all this time. She knows how it'll go: Byakuya is too proud, Ichigo is worse, and it won't end well. There will not be enough time.

This is the sinking feeling in her belly, pulling hard. There are no reassurances. Maybe they've been unneeded after all. Maybe there will be time to actually _talk_ , soon, later - she doesn't know. She won't tell him she's worried. That she counts on; he already knows.

"I was just rambling," she says, and it's almost shy.

He chuckles.

"Whatever." Then his hand is in her hair, threading through the strands. He tucks them behind her ear. She misses Yuzu's dress, already. Black for blue and now the sun at the high morning. The air is crisp and Ichigo's mouth touches her jaw. "It's an excuse to irritate the hell out of him."

She rolls her eyes. "You would."

"You'll be fine," he says.

"Don't do anything stupid," she warns. He flicks his fingers against her nose and it squirms. He chuckles and his mouth is over hers again.

It's serious, much more serious, a heavy mouth - Ichigo is possessive with reminders, his teeth slighting over her lip. He pulls. She lets a half-moan slip, her hips rolling forward; there's nothing remarkable or earnest about it. It's not meant to be a reassurance.

She remembers this:

He is hot and heavy and harder without even thinking. His fingers feel sticky against the back of her neck, her spine, and even as they trail over the fabric of her robes and the curve of her breast. He licks the inside of her mouth and she bites. She tastes skin and listens to their space - the low, bewildered laughter of the others, the sharpness of his reiatsu, pulling and swallowing hers, the promise that she tastes.

It's his refusal. There are no goodbyes.

She will try and hate herself later.

 

-

 

Rukia can pinpoint Inuzuri in the skyline.

Behind her, at her shoulder, reiatsu continues to cycle - grow, flare, die, and again. She keeps what is familiar locked in the back of her mind, her mouth curling slowly as her time starts.

"Are you afraid, Shingami?"

Ice gathers at the tips of her fingers. The sky begins to gray. Ash dusts across her mouth and Shirayuki is laughing, soft with battle and anticipation.

"I've never had enough room," she says. 

 

 

 

And one more time:

Ichigo pulls her dress over her belly.

His belt scrapes the inside of her thigh. He spreads his fingers between her thighs. She's slick. He hisses. She laughs into his mouth; he feels thick enough and her hips curve into his palms, her heel kicking against the back of his knee.

They're always quiet.

 

 

The snow hits her cheeks. There is a cry of _quincies!_ and Seireitei still wails with alarm. Rukia opens her fist and calls then.

He'll come, she thinks.

All habits, you know.


End file.
